Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
THEA
He hasn’t taken his eyes off me. How the hell can he deliver food to his mouth without looking?
I don’t know what’s so interesting about me, but I don’t like it. Not one bit. I’m convinced he’s doing it on purpose, to make me as uncomfortable as possible. And bingo, he hit the fucking jackpot, because he has, he does. I’m uncomfortable as hell.
The moment I stepped into the dining room, I knew something was off.
This isn’t just another business meal I was ordered to attend.
Nope, this time, my father has decided I need a bodyguard.
One I don’t intend on keeping around. I’m almost nineteen, for God’s sake; there’s nobody I know who essentially has a babysitter at this age. Nor is it needed.
Trepidation swirls in my stomach at the thought, but I push it aside. Nope, I don’t need anyone to save me. I can look after myself just fine.
Massio is tall, really tall, like a tree, and as wide as one too.
One I’d like to climb. His physique and looks remind me of Jack Reacher, with brown hair that’s cropped short, almost in a military fashion, and his hazel eyes dance with mirth as I study him as much as he studies me.
His white shirt is stretched over his broad shoulders, and tattoos peek out from beneath the fabric, creeping up his neck.
Ink also covers his large hands, thick veins running through them and over his fingers. Jesus, he’s hot.
How I’d love to see his bronzed chest bare.
When Marlene places my plate down in front of me, I grimace—lobster. I hate seafood. Almost as much as the salad with ranch dressing I’m served every meal with my parents.
I cast my eyes over to my father’s meal of steak and potatoes—a meal for men, as my mother would say, and of course, the bastard opposite me has the exact same.
What I wouldn’t give for a taste of that.
He clears his throat, and my eyes dart up to his. “You’re not eating.” He points to my plate.
It’s useless explaining I don’t like the meal served to me. I never do, and whenever my father announces we’re eating together, I reluctantly drag my heels to attend. Normally, it means my mother’s home, and that only makes me want to attend even less.
My aversion to her is almost as strong as hers is to me, and I gave up trying to understand it a long time ago.
“I’m not that hungry.”
His lip twitches as if he knows it’s a lie. Prick.
He’s far more intelligent than he appears, and the thought of it twists in my stomach.
The last thing I need is someone meddling in my life and taking away my freedom, especially someone who could cause me issues.
My parents’ absence allows me some independence, which gives me a sliver of happiness in my life—happiness that is mine. I’m not about to let him ruin it.
To avoid any further discussion, I avert my attention to my meal. The vegetables are the most appealing thing on the plate, so I pick at those first.
My father’s phone rings, and he pushes back his chair to stand. He fumbles with the buttons on his phone before making a swift exit from the room, and I want to roll my eyes at how absurd he’s being. If he thinks he’s being discreet talking to one of his mistresses, he’s not.
“I need a list of your schedule,” Massio rasps, his voice gruff yet velvety at the same time.
My eyes snap up to his. “For what possible reason?”
He leans back in his chair, filling the space, and my mind conjures up an odd scenario of me climbing onto his lap and pressing kisses to his handsome face and over his jawline.
“I don’t like being questioned. I’m used to people doing what I ask, when I ask.” His combative tone snaps me out of my little daze.
I raise my eyebrows and deliver a humorless laugh. “I’ll bet you do.” I lean forward with my elbows on the table. “But here’s the thing: I don’t like being questioned either.”
His sharp eyes zero in on me, and if I were younger, I would have shrunk away from his deadly stare, but I’m no longer afraid. I’ve been through far worse.
A shudder hits me at the reminder, and his lips tip up into a cruel smirk, probably thinking my reaction was toward him and not the memory that haunts me.
He, too, leans over the dinner table, so close I can smell his cedarwood cologne and, Jesus, do I want to lick it from him.
“Listen, you little brat, don’t make me spank your ass before the night ends. I have other plans tonight.”
I blink. Did he just say he’d spank me? He chuckles, his broad chest shaking, then my gaze flits down to his firm hands. My core clenches. Yes, please. Holy shit, just the thought of those hands spanking me is hot, and if he were to actually follow through with it … Wow.
“Fuck me, you like the idea of that, huh?” He drags his hand over the scruff on his jaw, and my cheeks heat as I pull back into my chair. “This is going to be so much easier than I expected.”
The door to the dining room opens again, and my father slips inside, looking as uncomfortable as I feel.
“I hope you’re not giving Massio any trouble, Theodora,” my father states.
I turn to him and plaster the fake smile on my face that he’s always so oblivious to. “Of course not. I’ll leave a copy of my schedule on the kitchen counter for you tonight, Massio. If you’ll excuse me, I have homework to do.”
My father beams with pride, but Massio’s calculated eyes watch my every move.
As I push out of my chair, the heat of his stare sends a zap of excitement through me, which is odd, since I hate being controlled and he’s here to do just that.
Massio might think he can be my bodyguard, but I’m about to prove to him he’d be best suited elsewhere.